


Hot off the Press

by realmzenith



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: AND the obligatory bridal carry and sex jokes, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Crime Fighting, Formalwear, Humor, M/M, Party, Superheroes, and a very tired nat, awkward encounters with the press, both the black tie kind and the superhero kind, boys in suits, oh and painful attempts at Flirting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-09
Updated: 2018-06-09
Packaged: 2019-05-19 23:55:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14883686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/realmzenith/pseuds/realmzenith
Summary: Alfred Jones, also known as the superhero, Blackbird, is a favorite of the press and a crime-fighting pro. It's just when he and his colleague, Ludwig Beilschmidt, join forces, in more ways than one, that the press becomes a little too much.





	Hot off the Press

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to my beta reader, [Rainy](https://regneriisch.tumblr.com), who also came up with the title! I hope you all enjoy. <3

“It’s fine. Stop tugging at your collar.”

Ludwig grumbles beneath his breath, adjusting his tie once again. Alfred reaches around him and squeezes his shoulder, leaning in towards his ear. 

“Come on, Ludwig. Loosen up or hm, am I just too distracting?”

“ _ Alfred _ .” Ludwig nearly whines. “You’re well aware that I hate parties.”

That may be true, but Alfred admits that he likes Ludwig at parties. He looks unfairly good in his black suit and tie, his blond hair meticulously gelled back and the lights from within cutting shadows beneath his cheekbones. Ludwig fidgets with his hands to his front, radiating awkward energy and looking too clumsy for a figure so broad. His coordination is uncharacteristically failing, and despite his better judgement, Alfred almost laughs. Threading his fingers through Ludwig’s on a whim, he pulls him up the marbled steps and towards the open doors.

Ludwig pulls his hand from Alfred’s, shooting him a glare. “Don’t be so obvious. What will the press think?”

“That we’re an item?” Alfred grins with a lighthearted shrug.

“Yes, so don’t.” 

Ludwig is flushing as they reach the doors. He greets the security with a rigid nod, and they’re waved in, Alfred’s heart beating in rapid flutters. Ludwig is cute even when he looks like walking sex appeal in a sleek black suit, and it’s messing with Alfred’s head, calling uncertain heat up to his cheeks. He watches Ludwig straighten, shoulders drawn back and expression level. He’s the picture of handsome justice they’re both called on to be, but while he looks good, steely-eyed and tight lipped, all Alfred can think is that he wants Ludwig laughing before the night is done. Ludwig glances to his side, eyebrows raised in question. 

“What are you planning?”

Alfred flushes involuntarily as he comes to the realization that he’d been staring intently at his profile. “Psh, nothing. I’m just appreciating the view. You look pretty in that suit.” 

He keeps his gaze ahead, lips quirked up in attempted nonchalance. He’s beginning to regret his teasing flirting as Ludwig falters.

“You don’t look bad yourself.” Ludwig mutters.

Alfred breaks into a smile.

He turns his attention towards the party, recognizing with some embarrassment that he’d been staring at Ludwig alone since the time they’d arrived. He figures you can’t blame him. Ludwig is undeniably attractive especially when compared to the gray-haired sponsors milling about the room. 

They blend into the crowd, tittering laughs and lilting voices mixing with the music. There are fine dresses, silk and tulle, bare arms and skipping giggles. Dark-suited men weave between the women, and clean light from the modern cuts of the ceiling and wall washes it all in white. Alfred flicks between the faces, searching for the familiar until his eyes land on the open bar. A couple is speaking animatedly with the bartender, the bottles lined and illuminated behind them. While he isn’t big on drinking, carrying a glass of something sounds nice. He claps Ludwig’s bicep and points towards the bar.

“I’m getting something to drink. Want to come?”

Ludwig’s eyes sweep over the crowd, his lips pursed in consideration. He nods after a moment. “Alright. Lead the way.”

Alfred strides forward, trailed by Ludwig and basking in the stolen glances of the crowd. He knows how they must look- tall and broad-shouldered- and who the public must see them to be. Neither of them hide their faces, technically speaking, during hero work, and Alfred in particular has blatantly claimed his superhero identity in front of the press. People are stopping, staring, murmuring wide-eyed beneath their breath. He hears his alias muttered and Ludwig’s- he hears it time and time again, pride swelling up in his chest. Ludwig looks like a young god, and he’s here with Alfred. 

“You’re strutting.” Ludwig says, caught up to Alfred’s side.

“Alfred Jones doesn’t strut.” He glances at Ludwig with a smile. “And please, why wouldn't I strut? If I hypothetically even did. Just look at us!”

“You don’t need to. They’re all already staring at you. You’re like the damn sun.” There’s no venom in his words. 

Alfred’s smile softens, warmth blooming in his chest. “Don’t be so fucking modest, Lud. We all know they’re staring at you. I mean, me, too, because yeah, I’m sexy as fuck, but mostly? They’re looking at you.”

“Well. I’m not,” Ludwig says as they reach the bar, his gaze turned strategically towards the wall. 

He slides onto a stool, pausing as Ludwig’s statement clicks in his head. “You’re not- what?”

“I mean.” Ludwig flushes. “I meant. I’m staring at you.”

Alfred falters, embarrassment creeping back up his cheeks. He regains some control of his body and forces out a laugh, pushing his forearm out on the counter. “Yeah, you can’t really stare at yourself without a mirror, and I’m the next best thing, huh?”

Ludwig doesn’t have a chance to respond as the bartender arrives. He greets them with a nod, and they give him their orders. 

A lulling silence falls between them, the promise of questions left unspoken written on Ludwig’s face and the music from the speakers lighting through the crowds. The bartender slides their drinks over, and Alfred nods his thanks. He picks his drink up and sips, considering how to phrase his own questions on the matter. He turns, lips falling open to ask, only to find a man approaching the bar. 

“Ludwig, what a pleasant surprise!” The man begins amicably enough, his hand brushing over Ludwig’s shoulders.

Ludwig startles, craning to spot the voice’s owner. He lights up in a gentle smile when he does, and Alfred feels a pang of something hot run through his chest. At Alfred’s shift, the man turns to him, pushing back his wavy blond hair and revealing a dusting of stubble. 

“Monsieur Jones.” The man smiles, leaning forward to offer him his hand. “I’ve heard so much about you!”

Alfred takes it, but before he can shake, the man pulls him in and kisses his cheeks. He reddens, unused to the affectionate greeting, but the man is gone again before he can process. 

“You don’t mind if I borrow Ludwig for a moment?” He asks, perfectly civil in his bearing.

Momentarily, Alfred feels guilty for questioning him and his motives regarding Ludwig. It’s not his place to meddle in Ludwig’s personal life. He nods back with a polite smile, waving them off.

“Go right ahead! I’ll be here.”

Ludwig takes his drink from the counter and waves goodbye before disappearing into the crowd. The two heads of blond become unrecognizable in the sea of people, and Alfred turns back to his drink. He swirls it around, staring into its spinning contents with a frown. He should stand, find someone to strike up a conversation with and avoid looking like a pathetic loser as much as he wants to mope. He exhales, pushing up from his stool, and moves away with his glass in his hand. Alfred puts on his best attempt at a smile, mentally groaning at his lack of will to socialize. This isn't like him at all.

“Jones!” Someone catches his shoulder, their voice by his ear. “Jörmungandr. He’s outside. He’s coming.”

He freezes.

It’s Natalya, dressed in a light yellow gown, her platinum hair pulled back in a bun. She scowls, dress yanked up from her ankles.

“I need to get rid of this fucking thing. Get Beilschmidt. I’ll be there.”

Alfred is pushing through the crowd before he knows it, downing the rest of his drink and placing it on the nearest table. He blinks, his glasses shifting to scan for Ludwig, his heat trail familiar to the lenses. 

“Excuse me. Sorry.” He brushes past another woman and squeezes between two suited men, his feet hitting the floor in claps. He sweeps his eyes across the room, brows drawing down and possibilities running frantic through his mind. Jörmungandr. A supervillain and one he’d thought they’d driven into hiding just weeks ago, but if he’s here… Alfred shakes his head, catching sight of Ludwig conversing with the man from before. A short girl nods at their side with the man’s same pretty features, blonde hair and blue eyes- only lighter and hidden behind silver frames. Maybe a sister?

He reaches Ludwig in seconds, forcing himself back to the present.

“Ludwig.” He places his hand on Ludwig’s arm. “Jörmungandr. Now. Here. Nat just let me know.”

“Here?” Ludwig’s eyes grow wide, brows shooting towards his hairline.

“Sorry. Urgent business.” Alfred says to the man and his sister, turning quickly back to Ludwig. “Yeah, we need to go.”

Ludwig's surprise melts into resolve, his hand extended towards the exit. “Lead the way.”

Alfred looks back, smiling towards them both in apology. The girl waves, concern in her eyes, and the man nods in understanding. 

“Later then, Ludwig, Monsieur. Take care of yourselves.”

Alfred is jostling out through the throngs before he’s finished. The light ahead is too bright, casting party-goers in bleached white. People turn and stare and whisper, but the admiration has faded into nerves and tension. He must be scowling. Sweeping red and blue and purple and black blur across his vision, voices too loud and bodies too hot.

_ Jörmungandr _ .

“Fuck.” Alfred hisses.

“Do we know where he is?” Ludwig says, arms pumping as he jogs through to the door.

“No fucking clue.” Alfred flicks his hands out, biting hard at his lip, the evening breeze brushing over his face. 

Blackbird’s scales unfold across his skin, moving up his suit to his neck and finishing at his hands and feet. The security guards start forward, startled, but Alfred has glided down the steps before they can fully react. Ludwig leaps down after him, rolling into a fighting stance. His sensors are whirring, analyzing their surroundings at lightning speeds and dialing up his night vision. The night is quiet, the wide driveway empty and the fountain bubbling inconspicuously on the lawn. Wind brushes past the blades of grass, waving silent on the manicured lawn. He hears crickets, the party, the water, but nothing more.

“There’s no one he-”

Alfred slams hard against the ground. 

Faintly he hears Ludwig roar in frustration. He squeezes his eyes shut, his display blinking once, and wills himself upwards, the suit’s scales folding backwards and pushing him up to his feet like temporary braces. They absorb back into his legs, slinking taut against his calves.

Ludwig is wrestling with something amorphous and black. But isn’t black so much as it’s dark. This is no snake. This isn’t Jörmungandr.

Alfred jets forward. He lunges for the thing around Ludwig, but his hands pass through and slam against each other. He stares blankly down at his hands, his heart racing. 

“I can’t- Can’t grab it!” Ludwig shouts, frustration lacing his voice.

It smells like fear. The thing wraps itself around Ludwig’s throat, pulsing in and out of what looks like the fabric of reality. Alfred grits his teeth. He grabs for it again, fingers searching desperately for something that isn’t there. 

Ludwig thrashes, hands clawing at his throat and his eyelids flying open. He’s choking. 

“ _ Fuck _ !” Alfred yells, pulling his hands up and down Ludwig’s body in a last ditch effort.

Ludwig screams, muffled. Something sparks in Alfred's mind, and he skirts to Ludwig's side. He blasts laser beams into the shadow. 

It falls immediately off, molding into the shape of a human. Ludwig falls to his knees, gasping for air, and Alfred moves instinctively to shield him. His heart is hammering in his head, and sweat trickles down his brow. He spreads his arms out before him, expression steeled behind his mask. This isn’t Jörmungandr at all. 

“Who the fuck are you?” Alfred shouts.

The shadow begins to solidify to a man of average height, forming limbs and head and torso. Alfred shoots. He blasts another set of beams, head on with the shadow, but in an instant, dark solidifies between them. The beams ricochet off the shield, bursting to glittery shards, and behind him, Ludwig stumbles up to his feet, ripping off his jacket and tossing it aside. The wall falters, and behind it, a man becomes visible. 

He’s lean, fit in the way Gilbert or Natalya is, and platinum blond. He looks young, and his eyes are oddly violet.

“Skuggi.” The man spits. “I’m Skuggi.”

Before Alfred knows it, the man has disappeared, and shadow is at his throat. 

“Alfred!” Ludwig shouts, frantic.

His suit hardens, rebuffing the attacks, but Skuggi wraps around his mask, draping his world in writhing black. He stumbles backwards, the supports shooting back from his legs as he struggles not to fall. A rising panic builds in his throat as cool shadow begins to seep between the should-be nonexistent cracks of his suit.

“Ludwig-” He says, muffled and shivering beneath the shadowy touch.

Suddenly, Alfred’s legs are kicked out beneath him, and warm arms sweep beneath his legs and back. He flails, meeting jaw with his fist. Someone grunts, and they pull him closer to their chest, his face buried against their shirt.

“ _ Shit _ , don’t flail! It’s Ludwig!” Ludwig bellows, voice tight likely from the pain of Alfred’s punch.

“Fuck! Sorry!”

He sincerely hopes he hasn’t broken any bones.

The shadow is simply brushing at his skin, ghosting across his cheeks and lighting across his forehead. It’s trembling with what feels like irritation, and if Alfred hadn’t known any better, he would’ve thought it was frustrated. It’s only as more begins to flow into his mask, stinging at his eyes and pressing up his nostrils, that the panic returns. 

Ludwig is running with him in his arms. He can hear his dress shoes against the asphalt become the padded sound of feet against the grass. He’s gripping Ludwig’s shoulders, his hands fisted around his shirt, with no idea to when it occurred.

“Lu-” He gags, the shadow slinking around his neck.

“Hold on! Francis told me! Total darkness! Shadow can’t exist without light!” 

Alfred is too busy choking to consider Ludwig’s statement, but briefly, he thinks that Francis must be the Frenchman from before. Maybe it wasn’t so bad that they talked after all.

“What the fuck is going on?” 

It's Natalya, and Alfred has never been happier to hear her voice.

“Cover us!” Ludwig barks, dropping presumably to his knees as Alfred’s back hits the grass. 

He can't breathe. His eyes are bulging from their sockets, and his fingers are digging hard into Ludwig's skin. If they survive this, there will be bruises, and he can taste blood where he's bitten his tongue.

Ludwig hunches above him, chest pressed to his face and arms curled around his body. It's warm, his weight comforting, but as pleasant as this is, Alfred still has no desire to die. Cold bursts jagged around them, and immediately, the pressure releases around his throat.

Alfred gulps in the life-giving air, his body flooding with cooling relief. His mask retracts, and the night runs gentle on his face. He stares, unseeing into the dark, his heart pounding. 

“Are you alright?” Ludwig says, his voice soft.

He heaves, air rushing in and out of his lungs and his face flushed from the effort. His hands fall limp to the ground. 

“Is it gone?” He rasps.

“I think so.”

Something warm blooms in Alfred's chest. He can't see Ludwig, but he can hear him, and before he can consider the consequences of his actions, Alfred is reaching for Ludwig's face. He finds his nose beneath his palm, his fingers brushing against his lashes. Each point of contact is like a miniature star going supernova on his skin, and Alfred feels like he's floating weightless at Ludwig's side. He slides his fingers down. He lights on Ludwig’s jaw, gliding up the chiseled line, and Ludwig's breath catches audibly. Alfred tugs him down into a kiss. 

It's a flood of emotion, his lips brushing Ludwig's with gentle assertion. Ludwig freezes, and for a terrible moment, Alfred begins pulling back. 

But there's only a beat before Ludwig falls atop him. His chest meets Alfred's, and his hands grip tightly around Alfred's waist. Alfred's eyes fly wide, and their lips crash together in a burst of clicking teeth and flushing heat. Color bursts unbidden across the void of his mind, Ludwig warm against him as his suit slinks to his back at his willing. Ludwig slides his hands up his sides, and Alfred grins, his hands fisting Ludwig’s hair and tugging hard.

There's only a brief moment of bliss before the structure around them gives way to the night. Cold air hits him with a rush, and Ludwig pulls quickly away.

Natalya looms above them, smiling ever so slightly. “You're both fucking disgusting.” 

Ludwig is flushed red, hair rumpled and his shirt pulled halfway out from his pants. He settles back on his haunches, staring past Natalya into the night. Alfred pushes up from the grass, scooting away from him to a seated position, and stares off in the direction of his gaze. Alfred’s jaw drops.

A crowd of people have gathered, cameras flashing and people shouting as a wall of security forces them backwards. Natalya raises a single brow, unimpressed.

Alfred can feel his face burning. Blackbird morphs back across his front and face, and he stands quickly to his feet, running a hand awkwardly across the top of his head. Ludwig joins him in seconds. He looks flustered, disoriented. His tie hangs crooked over his chest, and Alfred finds himself wondering why he hadn't considered that before their kiss. 

Natalya clears her throat, pulling him back to the present.

“Shit.” He stares blankly at the crowds. 

“Did they see us…?” Ludwig begins, voice rough, and Alfred curses.

“What do you think, Beilschmidt? And Jones, get your dick under control.”

“Collision! Blackbird! Tell us how long you've been together!” Someone shouts from the crowd.

“Fuuuck.” Alfred groans, walking out to meet them. “How did reporters get here so damn fast, and where the hell did that shadow asshole disappear to?” 

“He escaped while you two were sucking each other's faces off.” Natalya grabs Alfred by his shoulder, tugging him back with her inhuman strength. “Get the fuck out of here. I'll deal with them.”

“But the press loves me-”

“No. She's right.” Ludwig clears his throat, straightening out his tie and tucking in his shirt. He's still so red, looking inexplicably attractive and adorable all at once, and Alfred nearly curses again. 

“Fine,” He says, “But Nat, are you going to tell them we're together or some shit?” 

He expects a roast, but instead, she stops, her voice level. “Do you want me to?”

“Uh, no…?” He looks helplessly to Ludwig.

Ludwig nods, biting his lip. “Don't tell them yet. I don't think it would be wise.”

“Yet.” Alfred repeats dumbly, but before either of them can overthink, Natalya is pushing them together.

“Jesus Christ. Discuss this at home, or I'll castrate you both.”

Alfred nods, dipping down and bringing his arm behind Ludwig's knees. He scoops him up bridal style, and Ludwig yelps as they shoot into the sky, camera flashes following their ascent. Ludwig is flushing hard, the red that had begun to recede returning full force in his neck and cheeks. Ludwig has slung his hands around his neck, clinging for his life with a grip like iron and an expression of shock on his face. Alfred grins, his mask retracting back.

“Never do that again.” Ludwig grumbles, staring straight into Alfred's eyes.

He blushes at the scrutiny, smile still wide. “But you did this shit to me. Besides, I think you like being the princess. You're sure dressed up enough, and I  _ am _ the one in armor.”

Ludwig groans, his eyes falling shut.

Alfred bounces Ludwig up in his arms to adjust his grip, and a garbled sound of surprise rips from Ludwig's lips. Alfred snorts, the armor extending from his hands to connect in a higher barrier.

“Relax, Lud. I'm not going to let you fall. What kind of superhero would I be?”

“A shitty one.” 

“Blunt, but yeah, pretty much.”

Ludwig smiles. “Alfred, you kissed me.” 

He opens his mouth to respond, but he clamps it closed in a moment. He shrugs slightly, losing altitude as they near their tower.

“Yeah, I guess I did! You're not a bad kisser for a guy with a stick up your ass.”

“ _ Alfred _ .” 

Alfred laughs and lands light on the roof, stairs folding out beneath them to his workshop. Ludwig squirms in his grip, unhooking one arm from his neck.

“Let me go. You don't need to carry me in the house.”

“Yes, I do.” 

Alfred reaches the floor. He drops Ludwig’s legs promptly, Blackbird retreating back to his hands and his arm still beneath Ludwig's back. Ludwig's feet scrabble against the floor, his hand flying back to Alfred's shoulder and his lips parting in surprise. 

Alfred pulls him closer, kissing him once again.

 

* * *

“You couldn't wait until the fucking next room,” Natalya says from the doorway, her hand on her hip.

Ludwig pushes him away, his breath hot and his blue eyes glazed. Alfred groans in disappointment. He picks himself up from Ludwig's chest, propping an elbow on the counter and turning towards Natalya at the door. Ludwig shuffles to the side, buttoning up the undone buttons on his shirt.

“Nat, why are you busting into my fucking workshop?” He drawls, wiping his hand across his mouth. He knows he looks like a mess, but at this point, he can't be bothered to care. 

Natalya responds in dry monotone. “Because the others are wondering where you are, and I wanted to know if you wanted to explain for yourselves before I told them you're fucking.”

“Oh my god. Just tell them we're-” Alfred starts.

“We're not participating in intercourse!” Ludwig corrects, his ears burning bright red.

“Hm. I'll tell them you're busy, but Jones-” She turns, smirking slightly. “You probably want to agree on what you're trying to do here.”

She steps out, the door slamming closed behind her. 

He turns to face Ludwig, mild surprise in his eyes, and Ludwig clears his throat.

“Alfred, are we… er… Engaging in-”

“Definitely not if you don’t want to, but I also have one request to make.”

Ludwig stops, eyebrows raised.

“Don’t ever call sex intercourse ever again.”

Ludwig flushes red, his hand settling on his own forehead. “Alright.”

“Thank god, want to go debrief with the others?”

He sighs and exhales with a smile. “We likely should.” 

Alfred smiles back, threading his fingers through Ludwig’s and tugging him towards the door. He may not have gotten a laugh, but this is almost better, and the night is still young.


End file.
